


the spaces between mind and matter

by Recluse



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: After Ending, Buildup, M/M, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recluse/pseuds/Recluse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurent, looking at his hands, filthy at the end of the final battle, thinks that he needs to go.</p><p>Gerome, staring into the endless sky with Minerva at his side, thinks that finally, this is the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the spaces between mind and matter

It is three days after the fall of Grima, days filled with festivity and mourning, of farewells and reunions, that Laurent finds Gerome outside, preparing to leave with hardly a word, and asks,

"May I come with you?"

It is not as much of a whim as it sounds. Since the first night Grima had fallen, there had been a pull at his heart, a desire to go elsewhere, to further his own studies, to one day maybe meet his mother's level, intellectually speaking, to focus on other things, now that the end of the world was behind them. Admittedly, asking Gerome had been a bit more of a whim, it had only been chance that he had caught him leaving, but it was a whim that was reasonable. He knew Gerome well enough, they got along fairly well, and Gerome had said in many different ways that he wished to go elsewhere once the war was over, the conditions were in his favor. Traveling with him, at least for a time, would be quite beneficial, Laurent was certain of it.

That is, if Gerome was willing to take him. He was rather unable to come up with what Gerome would most likely say, Gerome was one who was rather delicate in that aspect, his answers would teeter between his moods, and Laurent had no real way of telling what Gerome felt at the moment, or how he felt about his question. He could only hope that their wartime association would serve as enough for him.

Gerome answers, "If you wish", his own thoughts turning inside his head.

Laurent was one who he considered a comrade, the genuine sort that others' tended to speak of when they said the word, one who he trusted to defend his back if need be it. They were not...Gerome did not make friends, per say, but, they shared camaraderie, and Laurent was one who usually had valuable opinions and observations. There would be no harm in letting him come along, for as long as he wished to be there. He had mentioned before, in a conversation long past, that he wanted to explore the world for study. Said reason was good enough, Gerome could understand all the rest behind those words, the things that he left unsaid. Wanting to get away from all of this...He couldn't blame him. He understood the feeling well, in fact.

"I'm going to Wyvern Valley. If you don't mind that, there are no problems."

"Certainly. Just give me a few moments to gather my things."

They depart early, Minerva makes no complaint at the extra person on her back, and they arrive at Wyvern Valley by the next day, the sun barely setting in the horizon. Their first evening, Laurent is fascinated by the scenery, watching the silhouettes of wyverns until the sky goes dark, writing notes down. Gerome watches him with mild interest and a strong sense of pride in the wyverns of the valley, watches how Laurent stares, muttering comments on their wingspans and size, and they spend a portion of the night discussing on the variations among the wyverns. How could he keep quiet, after Laurent had given Minerva such lavish praise about her size and figure?

Laurent finds the air here clean, easy to breath, and the feeling that had been in his chest settles as he does. He speaks easily with Gerome about Minerva and her stature over other wyverns, catches Gerome calling her 'Minervykins' once and can't help but laugh, a small chuckle that escapes when Gerome immediately tries to backpedal. It's not totally unusual for them to have this sort of conversation, but at the same time, it feels pleasantly different, and Laurent wonders if this is what peace truly tastes like, this moment where they worry about so little.

* * *

The next morning, they set out and find a small cottage right at the edge of the valley with telltale signs of abandonment, a layer of dust along chairs and tables, a rat infested bed that they throw out immediately. Laurent sets it aflame, "Mother always said that fire was the most efficient way of cleaning things up."

He wonders if she has set out on her own journey yet, wonders what she is studying now -- truth be told, he hadn't told anyone he was going, though he had left several notes. It had been a moment of chance that he couldn't have turned away, hadn't wanted to lose, there had been no time to leave anything more than a few scraps of paper and a promise to write. Though his mother had never really seemed to care where he went, honestly, he doubted she would even notice until a few weeks later, but his father would probably be at least a little concerned. He remembers the conversation they had once, in camp long ago, is glad he had the foresight to leave a note.

The majority of the day is spent cleaning, tinkering with the stove inside as well as the well outside, getting beds and shelves and things like that, organizing the tiny home so that Gerome gets a side and Laurent gets a side. Gerome wonders just how long Laurent will stay. He doesn't expect it to be for long, finds his doubts in the idea of a long term arrangement. They weren't so close, and he was a person of solitude above all else, he knows Laurent knows that. 

Yet, as the weeks go by he finds that he doesn't mind Laurent's presence. Far from it, Laurent being there is nearly soothing, he is quiet and polite and rarely causes any fuss, and Gerome will not confess that it is easier to sleep, some nights, hearing Laurent's slow breaths from the other corner of the room. Fewer nights then before are spent burning the midnight oil, but when he does stay awake, too stimulated by nothing but nightmares and regrets, headaches, Laurent is usually up with him, writing something or reading, tomes that he finds in the towns nearby. Every time Gerome asks, questions why he's up so late as well, he insists that he had meant to stay up, that it's not any sort of courtesy or the like, but Gerome finds it suspicious, how it always seems to coincide with his own insomnia. 

As another week goes by, Laurent takes note on the flora of the valley and thinks that his plan was never to stay longer than a week, he had just wanted a quicker lift to somewhere else, but he's already ended up settled, somehow. He hasn't completely lost the idea of going out into the world, still wants to travel and study, but, all the same, he wishes to stay here for longer, take extensive notes on the properties of the flora and fauna. There are a few other mysterious creatures that roam around the area besides the wyvern, prey and parasite, possibly even predator, and he's certain some of these creatures could be useful in some way, he just hasn't found how yet. It's worth the time to stay and study, just for a little while longer.

There is also the matter of his notes on Gerome, scattered amid his other papers. They had been unintentional scribbles, just a few words here and there, Gerome's habits, his mannerisms. His late night actions versus his wide awake ones, the days where he seems to have the hardest time sleeping -- Laurent has yet to find a pattern, but he feels one is definitely there, lurking under Gerome's skin. Gerome's mask, how he wears it nearly all the time, how he has not yet taken it off in Laurent's conscious presence, even though his proposed reason is no longer as relevant, there are not nearly as many enemies for them to fight, most of their battle skills are used only in sparring. Few would dare try to rob anyone near so many wyvern, especially when one guards the house. 

Still, he respects Gerome's choice to leave the mask on, is certain, adjusting his glasses, fiddling with his mother's hat, that it holds far more meaning than he says it does. Though it does induce curiosity, he will adhere to Gerome's personal space as best he can, but he can feel them getting closer as well, there are more casual conversations, idle talks between them that both sate his curiosity and rouse it.

It is peaceful, and Laurent cannot help but cherish that.

* * *

Laurent has stayed for a month, Gerome looks at him from his side of the cottage and takes off his mask, gently places it atop his table and calls out, "A word, if you have the time, Laurent."

He turns almost immediately, makes no sudden motions when he catches sight of his face, but Gerome catches his pause, the stretched out silence before he answers, "Yes?"

"I have a favor to ask you."

In a similar fashion to their once regular reports, Gerome asks Laurent to write letters, all sent to Ylisstol, the castle, because that is everyone's base, he knows that the others will end up there eventually, be around to respond at some point in time. Laurent asks him why he doesn't write them himself, but when Gerome shows him his handwriting, he understands.

"How do you have such poor script?" He says, and there's a vague sense of repulsion in his voice, directed towards the paper. It's not really pleasant to hear, but it bothers Gerome little, he knows his own flaws.

"It was not a skill I spent much time on. There were more pressing matters." Like the Risen.

"Fair point." Laurent looks to his own scribbled notes, prettier writing than Gerome's own, but still messy when looked out.

They work out a system, Laurent mostly writes the contents of the letters, but Gerome has questions he asks Laurent to include that form the core. He doesn't seem to mind the extra work, on the contrary, he smiles when he hears all the questions Gerome wants to ask. It makes him feel a little defensive and a little flustered all at once, when he asks why Laurent is smiling the way he is, Laurent tells him that it's nice to see him be so caring still, even after the war is over. He insists that he's wrong, that isn't the case, that he's merely concerned that their conditions will weaken just in case they are needed again, but Laurent sees through him, smiling cheerfully until he has no more to say to defend himself. His defense had been weak from the start, but with their added proximity, he can't help but think he was a fool for even trying. Laurent was far sharper than others, even in matters of heart, there were things he seemed to understand about people in general that Gerome sometimes found difficult to see.

Laurent makes no comment on his masklessness until a few days later, when, on the offhand during midday, he mentions that it had been nice to see him without it, asks if it ever bothers him and that he's free to be without it around him, if he's keeping it on for his sake.

It is not for his sake that he keeps it on, if anything, it is for himself, but he takes it off more often, especially on those late nights they stay up together, he lets it be and allows Laurent to see him, the tiredness around his eyes and the lines pressed in from years of wearing it, the eyes that he's always found a weakness more than a strength. And as Laurent sees him, he sees Laurent more, sees how he goes and periodically checks on the towns nearby, his trips to the market every week to keep their small home stocked with paper and ink, his shelf of books that he keeps to sell, only to replace them with new volumes for a time, until he makes his way through another round. He notices Laurent's careful management, the way he speaks gently with Minerva even though he admits to having a lack of understanding when she responds, the way he lights up when he discovers something new, wildly bright eyes that Gerome finds himself more and more drawn to, the fineness of his hair, how it glimmers red and dark golden brown in firelight or sunlight, seems soft, even though the tips are near constantly singed by his meticulous burning habit.

Minerva makes commentary that he chooses to ignore.

* * *

Laurent is digging through his notes one day when he finds that there are pages and pages about Gerome, more than he'd realized, unconscious words written in between sentences about his face, his expressions. He turns red at his own words over the few smiles he's caught on his face, the small amount of laughter he's heard. The tender look in his eyes when he speaks to or about Minerva. The demons he seems to battle all on his own that Laurent recognizes, loneliness and regret and fear that these peace-filled days will abruptly end, that they will be thrown into chaos and turmoil with no end in sight. The times he goes to market, early in the morning to avoid the crowd as much as possible, the way he can communicate with several wyvern, understand common sounds that Laurent still has little grasp on.

As he examines a flower carefully, he tries to organize his feelings, the sudden warmth and the throb of his heart that comes when he thinks of Gerome, in all his false stoicism, the act he puts on to protect himself, Laurent is sure, his honesty and his awkwardness, and Laurent thinks that he just wishes for Gerome to have hope, to experience this warmth, to open his heart just a little more to him.

So he tells him of his journey through the desert, during a quiet evening full of rain that had driven them indoors, Minerva in a cave nearby. He just feels an urge to let him know a story he finds rather personal, to tell him about the long days and nights spent wondering if he'd ever find anyone, filling his time with study to ignore the loneliness that would creep up against him, searching, believing, holding hope that he had not completely failed, that he was in the right time. The terror he'd felt. The way that there had been no one else, that he'd felt like the only one in the entire world, even though he knew that to be wrong. The endless days, year after year of no one, the feeling of being a single existence in a place where he knew he did not truly belong.

Gerome is quiet when he tells him the story, the flicker of the fires of their stove and candles is all the motion in the room, but when he finishes, his words trailing off when some emotion grips at his throat, Gerome looks at him, eyes soft through damp hair, and says, "You did not deserve that."

And then he explains the true reason behind his mask, starts slowly, as if pulling it out of himself, telling of childhood dreams leading to far more complicated things, of a face that he felt said too much that didn't need to be said in the midst of war and ruin. Laurent listens, and just listens, watching his face more carefully then before with this new information, trying to remember without writing down all the details of Gerome's feelings, the smallest twitch of his muscles, the most minute curve of his mouth.

Nothing more is said. But in that flickering light, the sound of rain hitting their rooftop, they spend a long time looking, without saying anything, until they both choose to turn to bed.

Laurent looks to the wall and wonders if this did more for Gerome, or for himself. Gerome closes his eyes and thinks that Laurent deserves happiness, resonates with him, and deeper in him, he thinks that he wants to be the one to give it.

In the month that follows after their talk, Laurent finds himself wishing he could touch Gerome, give a physical sign of comfort when he seems wounded, but also just because he wishes it, wishes for Gerome, and he wonders just when this feeling had begun, it feels so old already. Gerome is maskless far more often now, lets his hair down, literally and figuratively, he seems at ease around him, and Laurent only wishes to see more, to unveil all the mysteries within Gerome, almost like his fascinations with the world, all centered on him alone. It is harder to adhere to his personal space, certainly, Gerome seems to shorten the distance himself, drawing closer when asking about his latest research, seems to want to fully engage with him, and Laurent feels his heart grows fuller and fuller, until about to burst with affection, sentiment. Gerome wishes he could reach out and just, for a moment, draw Laurent close, but with his character, it would be far stranger than if he were Inigo or Morgan, certainly, Laurent would draw away and ask if he was feeling all right. It makes him curse his own ineptitude with others, as much as he's never wanted to be close to anyone, the desire to reach out and touch the curve of his shoulder or the nape of his neck, even for just a moment, is overwhelming at times. Minerva teases him, tries to nudge him forward, but he's certain that she's off the mark when she insists that Laurent would not mind. Laurent has been kind to him, has accepted his need for solitude but has still stood by his side, ever ready for the moments Gerome reaches out to him, has tried to reach out and help him, but there are still limits. Ones that he does not want to try and push, for fear of shattering it all. 

Still, he makes mistakes. When they spar he's far too often distracted by the glitter of Laurent's movements, the finesse of his spellwork, a delicate sort of art he's never truly grasped. It is an irritating thing, being so easily occupied by something as simple as a motion, the weight in his voice when he calls a spell.

* * *

It is a mild, somewhat chilly day that Gerome's birthday falls on, towards evening when Laurent gives him a carefully chosen lavaliere. As much as he knows Gerome isn't one for ornaments, it had struck him, a thin silver chain with a dark stone mixed in a carefully done silver criss-cross, as something that resonated the same way Gerome did. He gets something for Minerva as well, just for the sake of it, creates his own wyvern treat out of his research and hopes it'll be all right. Gerome accepts them graciously, tries to be gruff, but he knows his ears are turning red, a flush spreading over his face, how had Laurent even remembered his birthday? He doesn't remember ever mentioning it. When he asks though, Laurent laughs, says that he had remembered it long ago; when they were children, he had committed everyone's birthdays to memory. After all, there were so few moments they could have for happiness -- one moment of the year could make a vast difference.

It is those words that fill Gerome's heart with warmth and bittersweet happiness, with deep ardor, and he aches to touch Laurent, to reach out and hold him close. Laurent looks down and does not catch the look of tenderness on Gerome's face, he tries to still his own heartbeat, only succeeds when Gerome thanks him, voice rough and quiet but sincere.

In the few weeks that follow, there is some strange distance, some strange tension that drags with their footsteps, and neither of them know what to do with it as it rises, fills their small shared space and overtakes them, causes awkward shuffling and stilted conversations, sudden shyness, as if they hadn't been cohabiting for so long already. Laurent wonders why, if it was his fault in some way, and all the while Gerome curses himself, his awkwardness, his desires, his feelings for Laurent and how they lodge in his throat.

They receive an invitation to a grand party from Chrom, a celebration of a holiday and to good fortune for the next year. Gerome feels no desire to go, but when Laurent asks, he finds it difficult to say so, agrees to take him there, agrees to go with him.

As Laurent grips Gerome's waist tightly, riding on Minerva, he wishes they could be this close all the time. Minerva giggles at how tightly Gerome holds onto the reins, he says nothing to her but flushes red and is thankful for the night and his mask and Laurent being unable to see him.

It is not as painful as he expected, seeing the others that had managed to make it there. Certainly, it's strange, seeing the changes the others have gone through, but not bad. Laurent flits from person to person the moment they reach the hall, goes to each and every and inquires how their health is, if they've received his latest letter, seems glad to see them all doing so well. Even as he does this though, he thinks of Gerome, returns to chat with him about every person he sees, and the both of them do not miss the way it echoes their previous engagements, reports and letters. A few sly smiles are exchanged, and surprisingly, Gerome finds himself at ease in the crowded banquet hall, knowing Laurent will come and tell him whatever news has arisen, that he is there with him.

He lets his guard down far too much, a mistake he hadn't meant to make, hadn't realized. A group of women come towards him and he panics, seeks out Laurent in the crowd in hopes that he'll do something to get him away. His last encounters with groups of women, courtesy of that blasted Inigo, had been scarring enough, he hardly needed to deal with any more of that terror. That, alongside the fact that he wouldn't hold interest in any of them, the rhythm of his heart was for Laurent alone, even if he did not share the sentiment, as mortifying as it was to think about.

Laurent catches his gaze just in time, Gerome has just been cornered when Laurent intercepts, apologizing profusely, but the host has called them both for a friendly chat, and it would be far too rude to let him wait for long. Laurent is thankful for his own quick thinking, seeing Gerome surrounded by women was unpleasant, to say the least, and the look on Gerome's face -- well, the hard downward curve of his mouth really, since the mask was on -- was more than enough to make him hurry his steps and drag him away.

"Thank you. I feared they would eat me alive."

"Think nothing of it. I am glad to assist you."

They keep walking, Laurent's hand holding Gerome's wrist, leather against metal, through corridor after corridor, steps echoing through the halls until they end up outside, towards the wyvern mount area. Minerva makes a curiously happy sound, Gerome flushes, yanks his arm away from Laurent before he can stop to think on his own actions. A look of hurt crosses Laurent's face, he curses himself yet again for doing something so ridiculous.

"I apologize."

"It's not your fault." Gerome says, sounding irritated. Laurent bows his head, the rejection had been such a small thing, but it had hurt him harshly, Gerome pulling away.

"Laurent, don't- It isn't your fault." Curse his ineptitude. The light of the castle doesn't quite reach here, he can only catch a soft illumination of Laurent's bowed head, and he grits his teeth and does his best to explain himself without giving it all away, because he doesn't want Laurent to get the wrong idea, that he dislikes him or is tired of his company or something like that.

"I've just been...Off. Don't worry about it."

"If you tell me, how could I not? When I--" Laurent says, stops, bites his bottom lip, arm crossing over his chest to grip the other.

"What do you mean?"

There is something there, something he does not know for certain but can feel, that could change everything in this mere moment.

"I--" Laurent turns away, "Please, forget my last words. I will do my best to not worry about your aberrant behavior for now, as long as it does not impact you further."

And so what can Gerome do but let it go until the next morning, even though he wishes not to, wishes to drag it out of Laurent because it rings a similar sound, lends to him small hopes and small wishes and small dreams.

It is only after they leave Ylisstol again, until they're back in their small cottage at the edge of the valley where they both have come to call home, after they've unloaded and shed their armor and when Laurent is staring at the settling sun, that Gerome comes up behind him, steps light and quiet, and asks, "What were you going to say?"

Laurent turns, startled. "Gerome?"

The grass is orange tinted green at their feet, still growing, though winter is approaching quickly. The light of the sun is in Gerome's unmasked eyes, Laurent a silhouette against the brightness.

"I-- It matters not."

"Come now. What's on your mind?"

Distantly, Laurent thinks he's heard those words before. Gerome does too, feels that he's said that exact sentence in a far different setting.

They both take unsteady breaths.

"I..." Laurent begins, hesitant, quiet, "I had not intended to stay here for very long, had only meant to have you as a convoy for a short time." He pulls at his mother's hat, holds it in his hands and stares at the brim, cannot look at Gerome's face. "But there was an unforeseen consequence in coming here with you."

"...And that is?"

"I..." He steels himself, clutching the hat in his hands tightly, "I have fallen for you, Gerome. It seems that our continued proximity has caused my feelings for you to grow deep." He glances upwards, just a moment to meet his eyes before looking down again. "Feelings different from our previous status as similar allies, I hold only romantic sentiment for you...As strange as that is, being that you and I are both men." 

It isn't until he says it out loud that he realizes how true it is, how much he feels in his heart over Gerome, strong enough to nearly run him over.

There is silence. His heart beats quickly and with no signs of stopping, and Laurent can only hope that Gerome will not turn him away and demand he leave, if anything, he hopes that he will turn him down gently, but that is before Gerome breaches the distance between them and touches his shoulder. He looks up, confused until he registers the flush on Gerome's face, his eyes locked onto Laurent's own, and his heart stops, time falling to the wayside, slowing, viscous.

"As I to you." They draw closer together until nearly chest to chest, it is impossible to say who takes the first step, "I have been a complete mess ever since I realized that I hold such fervent ardor for you, Laurent. I crave your touch, your companionship, and I had few hopes that you felt the same." He smiles and the sight nearly sends Laurent toppling off the cliff, such an embarrassment that would be, "Until a few nights ago, that is."

"Oh." Laurent says, at a loss for once in his life as time begins to catch up to him again.

Their arms wrap around the other, hesitantly at first before suddenly gripping. Laurent rests his head on Gerome's shoulder, Gerome runs a careful hand through his hair, and all is right.

Minerva breaks their embrace, calls out with something that sounds affectionate, and Gerome turns a deep red and pulls Laurent inside, muttering that Minerva has said far too much.

"What did she say?" Laurent asks, curious. He can tell the tone well enough now, but in terms of content, he still has no idea.

"It- It's nothing important. She was just saying nonsense."

"Oh? What manner of nonsense turns you so flushed?"

Gerome says nothing, just closes the door behind them, still red, but he pulls Laurent close again before he can inquire once more and steals a kiss -- it's so sudden and quick that Laurent hardly realizes what has happened afterwords.

"That sort of nonsense." He says, not looking at Laurent. That had been terrible of him, he thinks, he hadn't even asked, had just taken Minerva's advice and been blinded by happiness, but when Laurent smiles, a deep crimson spread across his face, touches his cheek and leans forward, Gerome cannot resist him. A slower kiss, the touch of Laurent's lips against his own, when they part he wishes they hadn't.

Laurent is smiling at him, eyes glowing, and Gerome smiles back, heart full of tender feeling, of something he had thought to be long gone.

* * *

It is two months and a half of their new relationship that they fall into bed with each other, into Gerome's bed, to be precise, hot and needy and kept indoors by the cold snowstorm outside, mouths slick against the other and hands roaming, tugging at buttons and cloth and fastenings, Gerome frowns at the difficulty of Laurent's several straps, wants to just tear them off with all the trouble they cause him.

They had been shy, for a few days, had hovered awkwardly around affectionate gestures -- neither of them were particularly used to physical contact, after all -- but in time they had begun to go further and further, had gotten accustomed to light touches against each other's bodies, to soft, long drawn out kisses and caresses. There was plenty of time together to become used to it, to ease out the shivers in their spines, to become familiar with just each other's touch. It helped that they both wanted to be used to it, that the both of them had wanted to feel each other for so long before -- it eased them over the hump far more smoothly. Desire was a powerful motivator.

Laurent touches his cheek and urges his mouth back upwards, away from his neck, towards his lips, open, and Gerome obliges, leaving the straps alone but still fumbling with the buttons of Laurent's shirt, pries it open, fingers against the smooth skin and the pulse underneath. Laurent tugs at Gerome's shirt, slides a hand underneath it and takes a moment just to feel the muscles of his back, the shiver that comes from the bottom of his spine; a gust of pleasure hits him when he thinks that he caused that, when he hears Gerome swallow down a sound. Almost as if he's retaliating, Gerome nips at his neck and Laurent jolts, takes a sharp breath and draws Gerome nearer to him until they're right up against each other, pressed as close as they can be, skin brushing against skin at the hip line where both their shirts have ridden up. Gerome does it again, bites a corner of his skin, and when there's a sting of pain Laurent grips a fistful of Gerome's shirt, gasping, tries to urge him on with his body, plants his own kiss against whatever exposed skin he finds, curses the high collar of Gerome's shirt and blesses the fact it is so easy to navigate.

There are times when Gerome becomes strangely possessive, makes mark after mark against his skin, when he holds Laurent close and showers him in affection so unlike him otherwise, and Laurent thinks it might have something to do with how wyverns show affection for each other, how Minerva is, how Gerome is as a result of his upbringing -- but he hardly gets a chance to expand the thought when Gerome kisses him again, tongue against the roof of his mouth, sliding behind his teeth, and Laurent focuses on that, on not falling apart in his hands, undoes the straps of his outer coat before burying a hand in Gerome's hair.

He certainly likes his shows of possessiveness, he knows that for certain, the stinging pain on his neck, sure to leave another mark, and the fierceness in the way Gerome loves -- like he can't bear to contain himself, the fervor in how he pushes away the layers of clothing and runs his hands up and down Laurent's body like he wants to feel it all, the crevices and the shape of his very bones, when he does things like that, a burning desire pools low in his gut and causes an itch in his own fingers to touch him more, feel his skin against his own flushed flesh.

With every touch, every press of his fingers on the surprising softness of his skin, Gerome wants to map out Laurent's body, wants to catch the smallest details of him when they're like this, every small breath, every spot that makes him jolt and shiver, convey his pleasure, the trembling of his hands, the way he tries to hide, tries to be controlled even at these times -- Gerome likes to watch him unravel, likes to think that only he has seen Laurent like this, loose, liberated from his convictions.

It isn't as if he doesn't understand. He does understand why Laurent feels such a need to be mature, controlled, but he understands just as well that, in a way, that is simply a mask Laurent puts on his entire body sometimes, and Gerome savors the moments where he can strip him of it, let him be free from his responsibilities and his burdens, savors these moments when they both are at ease and yet raw, intimate.

He tugs at his pants, reaches for the button just as Laurent reaches out to do the same, and Gerome is struck by how wonderful this is, really, that he's with Laurent like this in his bed, wrapped together, both full of desire and a little bit desperate to feel more, that Laurent looks at him and only him and seems to be warm and tender and kind, and for a moment, he has to stop, his forehead falling onto Laurent's shoulder, just to breathe.

"Gerome?" He strokes his back once, more concerned than sensual, and Gerome takes his breath and continues, drags Laurent out, feels Laurent do the same with a startled twitch.

Time stills, the stove illuminates them in a vague sort of light, hazy between the darkness and the brilliance, eyes locked on each other, and Gerome catches Laurent's hair in the firelight and thinks that this is far more than he ever would have dared to dream of, more than he ever let himself want. Laurent can only focus on Gerome's eyes, thin rings of color around dark pupils that say more than words, and then they move and everything seems to happen far too fast, heart drumming in his chest as they grind against each other. Trapped in heat, the chill outside does not touch them, cannot as they slide together, slick with sweat and other things, and Laurent distinctly thinks it is not enough, reaches his hand to grip them as well as he can, hold them together so there's never a moment where they don't touch. Gerome twitches, stills, and Laurent fears he has crossed some line he was not supposed to cross, but his fears are unfounded. Gerome keens, a cry that sounds stuck in his throat, low and rough and far too arousing, especially when he quickens his pace and wraps his own hand around his and they're moving in earnest, pressed together tight. With every harsh jolt, almost painful thrust, too fast, too much friction, Laurent finds himself crying out, heat turning through his insides, burning him to ashes and making him whole again, every little touch, from their chests to their stomachs to Gerome's lips on his own, the caress of Gerome's hand in his hair, trailing down his cheekbone -- his back arches, hips pushing up, a hand closing, gripping a fistful of Gerome's shirt.

Gerome is merciless, watches Laurent with fascination and takes note of what makes him cry out the most, feels heady with lust, the sensation of Laurent's hand in his own, holding them together, hands scarred and rough from the fray. The texture of their calloused hands only excites him, his hips thrust forward and down, grating almost, painful almost, but far more pleasurable overall, especially when Laurent trembles, small shocks of motion that travel up and through his body and transfer to Gerome through their points of connection, gaps of heated skin, fingertips. They draw together, Laurent pulls him closer, caution gone to the wind, tongue pressing into his mouth, Gerome returns in twofold with hard breaths that are hard-won, easily stolen away as he gets closer to peaking, faster and faster, short and shallow things until they cut off and he presses into Laurent and collapses, shatters, feels Laurent do the same, arching up into him, the strangled cry of his name escaping into the air.

There is quiet. A few unsteady breaths, Gerome finds the rest of his clothes far too warm and sticky, hand covered in a mixture of things, but all the same, he doesn't want to move, stays pressed into Laurent, breathing him in. Lets his lips rest on the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Laurent shifts, feels unbalanced, unsteady, his limbs move in heavy motions, twitches the smallest bit when he realizes he and Gerome are still touching below the hip. The intimacy is...Not unwelcome, not at all, surprisingly, but as his mind begins to clear he thinks he must change out of his clothes, they're damp with sweat. Among other things.

"Gerome..." He nudges him, trying to get him off, and Gerome obliges after giving a small huff of annoyance. He gets up and off and swings to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, taking off his shirt and fixing the lower half of his clothes to some semblance of decency, though the flush all over his body rather ruins the idea.

"My gratitude." He sways when he sits up, quivery, still feels something rattling right under his skin, easing its way out.

"Here." Gerome passes him his shirt. Laurent looks down at it in mild confusion before realizing what Gerome has already done, says, "But--"

"It's fine. It would need to be washed either way."

He's not wrong, Laurent supposes, but still, he does so in haste, cleaning off his hands as well as he can before passing it back to Gerome, unsure of what to do with it now that it's been used as a cleaning cloth, essentially.

Gerome takes his shirt back and throws it into a corner where his other dirty clothes lie, looks to lie down on his bed and frowns, realizing that it's not really clean either, at the moment.

There's heat at the tips of his ears, thinking of why, but he pushes that aside. There are more pressing matters, like where he's going to sleep now that his bed needs cleaning.

"Gerome, may I suggest an idea?"

"Hm?"

"Seeing as your bed is in a rather, erm, debauched state, you could..." Laurent fidgets, Gerome watches in interest as he trails off, already has a sense of where this may be going, "If...If you wished to, we could, perhaps, share mine? Unless you find the idea disagreeable, of course, in which case, we could--"

"That would be good." He says, rising quickly before Laurent can finish his words, holding a hand out to pull him up. Laurent hesitates for just a moment before accepting, they walk the short way hand in hand, pause when they get to the edge of the bed far too quickly.

"After you." Laurent says, giving a small nod towards the bed, gently drawing his hand away to get new clothes. His were a mess no matter where he looked, Gerome must have kept his further off in order to avoid stains on his lower clothes. The thought keeps Laurent at his drawer for far longer than he'd meant to be, trying to ease the heat from his cheeks and elsewhere.

Once he manages to get his heart rate back to a relatively normal state, he turns back towards his bed. He can see that Gerome had crawled in as far to the edge as he could, but when Laurent gets in it's still a tight fit; their beds were both small and they were both rather gifted in terms of height, their limbs brush against each other and layer despite their efforts. Though, their efforts are not exactly their best, Gerome reaches to touch Laurent's hair again and Laurent turns to look at him, eyes warm while their shoulders and arms and legs overlap.

The next morning the weather is clearer than before, and they go check on Minerva together.

Laurent looks out over the valley and thinks that he will go on his expedition one day, but Gerome will, hopefully, be willing to stand next him.

When the time comes, Gerome agrees easily, finds it a little absurd that Laurent had expected him not to. As Laurent's eyes light up at his answer, he says to him, "I would go anywhere with you."

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Longing to meet his mother's intellectual standards, Laurent set out for Wyvern Valley with Gerome and Minerva. Eventually, they went on an expedition together, and Gerome found that the world could be far more than bleak._

_._  
_._  
_._

_Gerome and Laurent set out to Wyvern Valley and settled there for a time, until Laurent's curiosity called to him. The two of them went off to explore the world by Laurent's prompting, and their companionship was said to be one like no other._

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me if the character voices are a little strange, I haven't actually played the game in maybe a few months, though I did run through their support logs as a refresher course(and read their transcriptions of the DLC I haven't yet gotten haha...ha...) I tried to make the ending a little cheesy like the rest of the S supports, I'm not sure if I overdid it or not though.
> 
> I really really wanted to write this fic actually, I really liked this ship when I was playing the game and I still like it now! It's just so...Quiet? They fit together in a way that is really subtle and I find it really cute. And the ship has so little to it that I just got really into it, among some high school AUs and the like that I might eventually write out.
> 
> The Laurent and Gerome I'm imagining for this fic are their defaults, aka both with the red hair of their moms, but if I were to use the kids in my game files, Laurent is from Miriel-Frederick, and Gerome is from Cherche-Stahl.


End file.
